


One Thousand Words

by puff22_2001



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Miscommunication, Painting, Prophetic Visions, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24693202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puff22_2001/pseuds/puff22_2001
Summary: They argue. Haruka cries. Michiru paints a picture.
Relationships: Kaiou Michiru/Tenoh Haruka
Kudos: 38





	One Thousand Words

They fought so rarely. This thing between them was so new that the smallest crack might shatter it, and Michiru was too scared and too selfish to set Haruka free. So their few disagreements ended with Haruka crying quietly in her own apartment across the hall and Michiru in her studio, pretending to paint, pretending to be all right.

It was over something so pointless, as well. All Haruka wanted was to take Michiru to some cherished restaurant. But Michiru couldn’t hide the disdain that had flashed across her face fast enough for soldier eyes to see. Normal humans would have never seen even the slightest sneer accompanied by a raised, perfect eyebrow. But Haruka was not normal; she was special, and Michiru had crushed her.

“It’s fine! Never mind! I know, you’re used to all those nice places. I just, I used to go there with my–never mind, we can go to that one place again!” And Haruka had continued rambling until Michiru had held up a beautiful, manicured hand.

“Actually, Haruka, I really must finish this new piece. My show next week is missing its focal point and I’ve been so out of sorts with the mission that I haven’t had the time to work.”

“No, that makes sense! I’m sorry! We can go out tomorrow, or later. Whenever!” Michiru could see the tears beginning in those beautiful green eyes and Michiru felt like a monster. Haruka turned to go, her hand on the doorknob trembling ever-so slightly. “I’m just going to go and work on some strategy. Uh, good luck on the painting, OK?”

So Michiru sat, brush held limply on her thigh, staring at a blank canvas. The piece de resistance of her upcoming show was finished weeks ago. Michiru wondered if she would always be the perfect statue her parents had wanted. Would it even matter? If The Silence won, they’d all die anyway. In a twisted way, the thought comforted her as she finally dabbed the brush into a dark blue on her palette.

But she didn’t want that for Haruka. Even if they didn’t make it as a couple, Michiru wanted Haruka alive and happy. Even if it meant that Haruka hated Michiru as much as Michiru sometimes hated herself.

The teal-haired girl painted absently onto the canvas as her thoughts swirled. Haruka was a light in the darkness, as cliche as that was. She was the wind, the very air to Michiru, and all Michiru wanted was to protect the blond girl from The Silence, their destiny as soldiers, and anything else that might threaten Haruka.

As the picture before her took shape, Michiru barely noticed. She often painted on instinct; some part of her always knowing at a glance where to place the perfect dab of color to produce the best response. But today, she found herself even more distracted.

They really hadn’t had a fight, after all. It hadn’t been like her parents’ arguments–silence and stony glares across the dinner table as Michiru sat and picked at whatever delicacy the chef had made in vain. They hadn’t screamed at one another like the younger girls tended to do, the few times that Haruka and Michiru had been privy to their spats. That afternoon had simply been Michiru being Michiru and Haruka fleeing from the unavoidable truth of the gulf between them.

But were they so different? Michiru liked to think that she wasn’t her parents or their ilk; though she played her part and knew her own darker aspects, she at least could admit that she was a product of money and shiny things meant to distract. Michiru knew how to manipulate but didn’t relish it like so many of the elite around her did.

And Haruka–Haruka was barely out of abject poverty. Only her own genius on the racetrack had made her the world-renown celebrity Michiru had found at that art gallery so many months ago. Haruka could hide her roots behind beautiful suits and pretty flirting, but she couldn’t stamp down how she loved terrible American beer and silly tee-shirts, videos of cats and listening to the old records that her late grandma had adored.

Michiru dabbled gold across the canvas. Haruka was truth, to Michiru. She was real and she was kind and Haruka was convinced that she was doomed. Michiru didn’t care about any supposed sins that they had committed as far as she herself was concerned; she’d accepted her fate when she’d closed her eyes and let the visions take over. She’d accepted every terrible part of being a sailor soldier when she’d taken that damn pen. Because she’d known that Haruka was out there, waiting, and Haruka was worth damnation.

But Haruka needed protection. Haruka needed someone to love her, even as she insisted that no one could now. Michiru loved Haruka. She would have loved Haruka even if she’d always stayed the poor street brat, forever trying to make it in the world that they were trying to save. They were trying so very hard to save them all, despite how very cruel everyone had been to the one person that Michiru would have sheltered at any cost.

The painting grew and Michiru continued to add and reflect. As she worked, her mood calmed, and her heart lightened. Even thinking of Haruka in such bleak terms brought Michiru comfort. Haruka did that to you, she reasoned. Even Usagi and her friends had warmed to Haruka immediately on meeting, and all four of those younger girls seemed ready to kill anything that even looked at Usagi askance. Because that was Haruka. She flirted and she laughed, and you wanted her to flirt with you and you wanted to share her laugh.

Michiru didn’t know how she would make this right, but she wasn’t as despondent as when she’d sat down. Haruka was fragile, but Michiru had had her entire life of repairing things to teach her when no one else could or would. She was new to real love, but she wasn’t an amateur at acts of contrition.

Michiru would fix this. She would show Haruka how much her simple joys made Michiru appreciate her own hidden loves. She would make Haruka see how her poor background gave Michiru comfort, because it meant Haruka knew how to survive. Michiru would force Haruka to see how much she mattered despite her rough edges, and how those edges fit so well with Michiru’s own sharp corners.

Together, they were whole. Michiru painted and a small smile bloomed on her beautiful face. She would find a way to make Haruka see that.

~~*~~

Haruka wiped her eyes on the tissue in her hand before wiping her nose. She had retreated to her room as soon as Michiru had dismissed her. Now she sat with a book in front of her, failing to read a single word.

Michiru had been right to sneer, of course. The restaurant Haruka had suggested wasn’t even close to what Michiru deserved. But Haruka loved their food and the staff had always been so kind to her and her grandmother when she’d been small. She’d just wanted to share that with Michiru.

Because Michiru was amazing, plain and simple. Haruka wondered on the daily how she’d ended up dating someone as special as the stunning Michiru Kaioh, world-renowned artist and musician. If Haruka was feeling particularly self-loathing, she’d remind herself that they were soldiers and partners before they’d ever even considered dating.

But being partners and actually being together weren’t mutually exclusive, Haruka told herself as she flipped aimlessly through the pages of her book, sitting on her bed. It wasn’t like Michiru had to date Haruka to be a soldier. If anything, not being involved would probably be safer; there was a reason Jedi weren’t supposed to have emotional ties, after all.

Haruka laughed weakly at her own reference. Michiru had consented to watching the Star Wars movies for a date night some weeks ago, though she’d made dry comments throughout. It was how Michiru operated, after all. Though she might look down on some of Haruka’s tastes, she tried to participate in them all. Michiru tried her best for Haruka.

That’s why it was so stupid that Haruka hadn’t even tried to explain! But it was so hard to bring up her grandmother, even now. She’d been the only person to truly love Haruka until Michiru, and now she was gone before she’d even gotten to meet the girl Haruka loved in return.

Because Haruka did love Michiru. If they managed to not die horribly in the coming war with The Silence, Haruka wanted to spend the rest of her life with Michiru. They might be young, her grandmother would have inevitably said, but Haruka knew what she felt. Michiru was what Haruka wanted.

Michiru was water to a dying woman. She was her music, haunting and wise. She was what made everything worth the fear and the pain. Every violent act, every innocent hurt, every invisible scar on Haruka’s soul–it was all pointless without Michiru there to support and protect and help.

The blond looked out of the window at the waning sunlight and sighed. Michiru had everything. She was beautiful and refined. Still, she’d chosen Haruka, even when Haruka was chained to this terrible, thankless task. And if Michiru saw something worthy in Haruka, then it had to be there. Because Michiru Kaioh did not suffer fools or bother with worthless things.

A knock at her door startled Haruka out of her reverie. Michiru had a key to Haruka’s apartment just as Haruka had one to Michiru’s. They’d actually started dancing around the idea of moving in together, but so far it had all just been innocent comments and shy questions. Michiru always knocked when she came over, though. She respected Haruka’s privacy, unlike almost everyone else in the world.

Haruka got up and walked to the door, trying in vain to wipe away the remaining tears.

“Hi, Michiru. How’s the painting coming along?” Haruka said with a smile, even as the redness about her eyes gave away what she’d been doing for the last few hours.

“It’s nearly done, actually. I just wanted to come get your opinion on it.” Michiru took Haruka’s hand and led her across the hall and into Michiru’s studio. Among the paintings Haruka saw familiar shapes and people. She herself featured prominently. Although Haruka had been there many times, she was always awed by the beauty and talent in each piece. Michiru was a genius.

“What do you think?”

Haruka looked towards where Michiru directed her vision with a paint-splattered–but still gorgeous, as far as Haruka was concerned–hand. Haruka gasped.

“How did you?” Her grandmother smiled out serenely from the canvas, the child Haruka in her arms. She’d not yet shown Michiru her few photographs, and the image was stylized, but it was as surely her nana looking back out at her. That was her smile, her favorite sweater in blue and gold, the wet paint almost shining in the spotlights about the room.

“My mirror–I can make it show me the past as well as the future.” Michiru said with a tired smile.

“Michiru, you shouldn’t strain yourself!” Haruka said as she took Michiru’s elbow and led her to the couch in the corner, for when Michiru just couldn’t leave her work.

“Do you not like it?” Michiru said with a sideways glance, waiting for Haruka to tell her that it was all terrible. But Haruka sat her down gently, and then took her rainbow hands.

“Michiru,” The taller girl brought one hand to her lips. “Michiru, it’s beautiful. I, I–”

“I really wanted to finish it tonight.” Michiru said simply.

“I love it and,” Haruka gulped back the tears that threatened to spill, “She would have loved you.”

“I’m not so sure, but thank you.” Haruka laughed as she readjusted her seat so that Michiru could lay her head on Haruka’s shoulder.

“You make me happy. That’s all she ever wanted for me.”

“You make me happy, too, Haruka.”

They fell asleep that way, leaning on one another for comfort. The painting dried and the silence outside wasn’t so frightening when they were together.

Whatever would come for them, they would face it together. They fought with all their strength against so much in the world, but they were together.

That was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story for the SPARKLE SPARKLE Harumichi Gift Exchange over on tumblr, facilitated by docholligay. Haruka's grandma raising her in poverty is purely Doc's headcanon, but I find the idea very acceptable. I enjoy inter-class romance a lot, so this was a lot of fun to write.


End file.
